


Eidon

by incomplete_sentence



Category: The 100 (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-25 20:32:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6209077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incomplete_sentence/pseuds/incomplete_sentence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The journey to Lexa's conclave.  And perhaps beyond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eidon

**Author's Note:**

> What in the world am I doing? (Don't ask me, because I don't know.) Also, I'm terrible at a languages, so I don't even know if the few words I used were used correctly. Sorry.

She was ten years old when they took her from her family. She doesn’t have many memories of that time, but she does distinctly remember one thing: the look in her mother’s eyes. She remembers it for its intensity. She remembers it because of the many emotions she saw there. She saw pain, love, sadness, anger, and, most strongly of all, there was resolve. Her mother’s eyes had flared with an intensity of life Lexa had never seen before, and when her mother’s arms wrapped around her for the last time, Lexa, young as she was, had the unshakeable impression that a shift had taken place in her life – one which would change her life’s direction forever. In moments of uncertainty, Lexa sometimes closed her eyes and thought back to that look.

That was the last time Lexa saw her mother. 

It was a cold morning in fall when she left home for the last time. She journeyed with her father for three days on foot to reach tonDC. He didn’t say a word to her most of the way. He wasn’t a man for words. If she was honest with herself, she was afraid of him, so conversations were not something for which she longed. But she knew his heart like she knew her mother’s, and she knew how fiercely her father loved her. A part of Lexa knew her mother would handle Lexa’s absence better than her father would. She hoped he would be okay.

When they set up camp the second night, he built a fire for them and let her cook their meal. It was a treat as he rarely let her cook. He had good reason for his reserve; she was terrible at cooking. He let her cook this time, though – let her play and chuckled as he ate the meal; and she knew something was changing. That night, he wrapped his own large fur around her. Thinking she was asleep, he checked on her three times, tucking in the fur where it had come loose from her fidgeting and making sure none of her skin was exposed to the chill wind that swept through the trees. She didn’t mind his fussing. She enjoyed the feeling of his strong hands tucking her in tightly, securely.

She stayed awake for a long time that night. The world breathed all around her. She listened to the rustling of branches and the whoosh of leaves smacking in the night air. She listened to the pops and hisses of the fire and felt its heat warm her cheeks. She listened to her father moving about and, when he finally settled and fell asleep, she listened to his slow, deep breaths; they calmed her – made her feel like maybe things weren’t moving so fast after all. She found her breathing fall into sync with his, and within minutes she slipped into sleep.

She awoke to the feeling of her blanket tickling her face. She brushed it from her face and released a loud yawn. The remnants of the fire had long gone cold and so had she. Looking to her father’s form – curled tightly in on himself – she felt terribly guilty. She stood and tiptoed closer, dragging his heavy fur behind her. She placed it lightly around his broad back and tucked it under his chin before scurrying back to her own spot on the ground. Heat lingered in her fur, and she let out a quiet sigh as she relaxed into its comfort, tucking her icy fingers against the skin of her neck to warm them. 

The night was still dark, but a barely visible haze was lightening the sky in the direction she would soon be travelling. Dawn was approaching. The realization caused a heavy weight to settle into her stomach. She swallowed down the sadness and turned onto her back. She stretched out her legs and stared up at the night sky, wishing the stars would stay just a little while longer. She suddenly didn’t feel like sleeping. She stayed silent, though, in the hope that if she was quiet enough, her father wouldn’t wake until half the day was gone. She tried not to think of home – tried not to wonder if she would ever seen her house, or her favorite tree, or her nomon again. The minutes passed, and with each one, a dull panic seeped into her consciousness. She tracked the time by the spreading of color across the horizon. The birds began to awaken – their calls growing more frequent. Lexa heard her father shift beside her, but she kept her eyes on the sky and received a pleasant gift.

With day racing to claim its hold on the world, Lexa found comfort in watching the las-skaifaya track across the sky. Its spiteful blaze lingered, even as the rest of the stars faded away. Rarely had she been awake early enough to witness its passing, but each time she saw it, she felt something like hope. 

By midday, they had reached the hills surrounding Tondc. The town was alive with movement. It was larger than Lexa’s home but not by much; she liked how far she could see from where she stood. She cast her eyes up at her father and took in his stern expression. She tried to memorize his face. When the thought struck her that she might never see him after this day, she took his hand in her own and faced forward. They stood like that for a few minutes before he tugged on her hand and they ventured into the hum of people. 

As her father pulled her along, Lexa looked at the faces of all the people they passed. The faces blurred before her in a flood of noise and excitement and color. After walking what felt like the length of the entire town, they finally arrived outside a stall where three large men stood talking. Lexa’s father left her side to talk to one of the men; they grasped arms in a manner of familiarity, and Lexa tried to remember if she knew the man. She didn’t think she did. He was young – younger than her father – but still old to Lexa’s eyes. He had a kind smile, though, and Lexa felt a tiny piece of herself relax as he approached. She straightened her back when her father introduced her and held out her arm to him. She thought she saw him trying to hold back a smile as he grasped her arm; hers reached only just past his wrist. “This is Nyko,” her father explained to her. “He is your mother’s kin. We are not so far from Polis now, but I am not allowed to take you for your reclamation. I have requested that Nyko take you the rest of the way. He is traveling to Polis and is familiar with one of the nightbleeder guardians.”

Lexa felt her face fall, and her hand dropped from Nyko’s arm. She turned her gaze desperately to her father, but he did not meet her eyes. He stared darkly at the ground. Seeming to sense the change in atmosphere, Nyko said he would give them a few minutes to talk and excused himself. He turned back to the men to whom he had previously been talking, leaving Lexa and her father alone. They stood in a heavy silence before Lexa’s father turned to her with a grave expression on his face. For a moment, she thought he was displeased with her.

“Walk with me,” he said. She followed to the edge of the nearby tree line. Her heart hammered in her chest, and it suddenly struck her that this was goodbye. Suddenly she wasn’t ready. Suddenly it was real. Suddenly the panic settled back into her, and she wondered when it became so hard to breathe.

“You know we leave each other now, yes?” her father asked. She nodded, afraid to speak. He stared down at her challengingly.

“Yes,” she said out loud. 

The ground was hard beneath her feet, the dirt packed firm from the cold air and countless footfalls. She gazed at the trees and thought how they looked so much like the ones from home. A fear struck her that she didn’t know how to get home. If the trees all looked the same; how would she find it?

“You will forget me soon.” Her father watched as she shook her head. She was upset at the very thought of it. 

“I won’t,” she asserted. 

“Your mother and I will be the first thing they take.”

“Beja, I want to stay with you.” She could hear the weakness in her own voice, but she didn’t care. This wasn’t okay. Any of it. Her panic seemed to both grow and change in that moment, passing into some new emotion. She didn’t know what the feeling was, and she was too distressed to worry consider it. She didn’t have time. “I don’t have to go,” Lexa decided, gripping onto her father’s sleeve. “I will stay.” Her father tilted his chin up and glanced down at her. 

“Will you?” he challenged. Lexa’s eyes sped back and forth between his. She didn’t know how to respond. Her mother and father had spoken to her many times about this journey she was undertaking. Since she was a child they had explained her duty and the responsibility she had – to learn how to protect their family, their people. She felt that duty now – so keenly – but she still didn’t want to leave. She still didn’t understand how any duty could be more important than the person before her. And she was afraid to leave him. 

“Beja, nontu. Ste.”

He closed his eyes then. He took a deep breath and shook his head resignedly before opening his eyes again.

He dropped to a knee before her and met her eyes. She could see the tightness in his jaw as he clenched it. His beard moved as his jaw flexed. His large, rough fingers scratched across the skin at the back of her hands when he took them into his own. They were cold against her skin, but hers were cold too. 

“The world will take everything from you, youngon,” he said. His voice was gruff and familiar when he spoke again; and Lexa was afraid a day might come when she would forget that, too. “Mourn nothing,” he growled. “The world may take much, but you have two strong hands:” – he brought each one to his lips and gently kissed them – “You will take more.” He said the words slowly, purposefully, and, by the end, his voice had taken on an edge of anger that shot a thrill of adrenaline through her. 

“Yes, nontu,” she nodded obediently. 

He watched her expression for another moment, gaging her answer. Then his face softened into a look that was almost tender. The smallest of smiles touched his lips. It was an incredibly rare thing, and Lexa couldn’t help the smile that broke onto her own face, despite the stinging of tears at the backs of her eyes. Her father tilted his head forward, gently touching his forehead to hers.

“Ai hod yu in, strik snacha.”

“Seintaim, nontu,” she breathed as a lump formed in her throat. “Otaim.”


End file.
